


Bad Moon Rising

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Queen - Freeform, Quidditch, Recreational Drug Use, Star Wars - Freeform, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: In 1976, the Dark Lord’s followers are everywhere. But the marauders won’t go down without a prank.Canon compliant, character and plot-driven story of Hogwarts and the British wizarding world in 1976. Follows the Marauders and Lily Evans. Includes a dozen pranks, three nearly fatal curses, one movie theater, a pack of werewolves, a gang of Slytherins, and ABBA.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 26
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue: The Runaway

The dog sat in the middle of the concourse, head tilted back, and stared up at the train departures listed on the Solari board. It was a great black beast with a handsome shining coat, dark eyes, and wet nose. In fact, the dog was wet all over, sodden fur dripping into a puddle on the tile floor. It huffed a sigh through shining white teeth which gently grasped a wooden stick. After a few moments, the dog’s dark eyes left the board to search the rest of the concourse. As the clock hanging from the ceiling above struck 12:00am with an echoing chime, the dog’s gaze landed on a brightly lit Information sign.

The dog, stick still gently clasped between its teeth, stood and trotted over to the booth. There it sat and waited, head cocked.

Harold Truss, who had been watching from behind his newspaper, beneath which he was reading something less literary, leaned across his desk and looked down. He idly fished a crisp out of a plastic bag while the dog stared at him.

“Missed your train, did you?” Harold addressed the dog.

The dog nodded once, and Harold nearly choked on his crisp. “You know some tricks, eh? Is it my crisps you’re wanting?”

The dog shook its head and huffed. It trotted around in a circle, then shot off towards a wall of pamphlets. It stood on its haunches and pressed its nose to one of the plastic holders, trying to pull the paper between its teeth without dropping the stick.

“Hey now!” Harold yelled. “Leave it- go on, get-“

Standing, the dog’s front paws easily cleared the top of the information desk. It opened wide jaws to reveal pointed teeth inches from Harold’s face, and dropped a pamphlet on the desk. It made a wet sound as it landed; the lower half was covered in slobber.

“Dorset line?” Harold read. 

The dog wagged its tail.

“Well…there’s a bus leaving soon, stops in Shaftesbury.” Harold stared into the dog’s eyes. “Are you some kind of government experiment dog? I read something in the Daily Mail about the government breeding spy dogs. Interfering in The Troubles.”

The dog snorted. Droplets of water dripped from its coat onto Harold’s newspaper. It tapped the pamphlet again with its nose.

“Bus lanes are back out the front, to the left,” Harold pointed. “Last one of the night leaves in,” he checked the clock, “Ten minutes.”

The dog lunged forward, enormous pink tongue sloppily licking Harold’s face, stick still held between its back teeth. As Harold yelped and leapt back, the dog snatched the bag of crisps, turned, and ran off.

Licking salt off its nose, the dog left out the front door and turned its head to examine a bus stop lit by a single streetlamp. It trotted into a crosswalk with head and tail high, then yelped as a car slammed its brakes and stopped nearly an inch from hitting it. The driver honked at the dog, which turned and barked back. The stick clattered from its mouth and the dog at once dipped its head to retrieve it. Thunder rumbled in the dark, and steady rain grew to pelting sheets driven by the wind. The dog darted toward the covered stop, ears and tail drooping as if weighed down by water.

“Shoo,” a woman sitting on the bench in a bright red Mac poked her umbrella at the dog. The dog whined and tucked its ears back, eyes going large and liquid.

“Aww,” the little girl with her held out a hand. “Poor doggy. He’s all wet.”

The dog bumped its head under the girl’s outstretched hand and whined. The girl giggled.

“Stay away from it,” the woman tugged the girl away. “It looks like a stray. It might have fleas.”

“No,” the girl pulled away and scratched behind the dog’s ear. “It’s a good doggy. See?”

The dog sat on its haunches, as if to prove a point.

The woman sighed. “Probably too late now.” She peered into the darkness beyond the streetlamp, and froze. “Is that – what is that?” 

No other cars passed them. The bus lane remained empty, and the streetlamp flickered. On a rainy night in August, London was quiet, the station deserted.

“Doggy,” the girl pointed past the black dog and into the night. The black dog turned in the direction the girl pointed and sniffed. Suddenly, it sprang up onto all fours and snarled deep in its throat. As it rose it seemed to become larger, looming above the girl even with all its paws on the ground.

The woman screamed and pulled the little girl away from the black dog, but the dog had faced away from them and was peering into the darkness, hackles raised. An enormous grey shadow moved between distant streetlamps. It seemed to thread through the darkness, barely visible from one moment to the next. The woman gasped, her eyes following the shadow as she and the girl stood behind the black dog.

The black dog barked ferociously, spittle flying from its teeth and lips peeled back. The grey form, undeterred, moved closer. The nearest streetlamp to bus stop lit the opposite side of the road perhaps 20 feet away. In its yellow light, a flash of pointed teeth appeared and just as suddenly disappeared again. 

The woman pointed her umbrella out into the night, past the black dog. It trembled in her hand. “Shoo,” she called out, swallowing when her voice came out in a whisper. The black dog sniffed again and watched the opposite side of the street. The girl had twined her fingers in its fur, her eyes wide.

A hydraulic creak of wheels broke the silence as a bus turned the corner and rumbled down the street. It rolled to a stop with a hiss of air, and as its door opened the woman clambered on, tugging the child up the stairs behind her.

The dog retrieved its stick, eyes not leaving the other side of the road, and bounded up the stairs into the bus.

“Hey!” The bus driver stood and kicked at the dog. It yelped in surprise and whipped its head around to look at the driver.

“No dogs! Shoo!” The driver waved his hands to no avail. He attempted to grab the dog’s scruff, and the dog threw itself down in the aisle, whining pathetically. The bus driver’s face grew red with exertion as he attempted to lift the dog from the floor.

“Wait,” the woman in the red Mac said. She glanced out the bus window into the dark street. “He’ll be good.”

“This is your dog?” the bus driver asked. The woman didn’t respond, and the driver huffed. “Well I’m not waiting around for animal control. See that he behaves himself.”

“Doggy!” the girl called, and the dog leapt up and trotted over, laying down beneath her feet. She giggled as the dog laid its great head atop one of her feet and gazed soulfully into her eyes.

Apart from one elderly man four stops down, the bus remained empty as it trundled through the night. The dog rolled on its back to let the girl pet its belly, but it did not sleep.

“Shaftesbury!” the driver announced, cranking open the bus door with a pneumatic hiss as the elderly man stood.

At once, the dog rolled onto its front and leapt to its feet, sprinting down the aisle. It paused in front of the driver and gave itself a full body shake, water and fur flying.

“Pissing dog,” the driver growled as the dog bounded down the stairs, bus doors clicking shut behind it. The dog turned in a circle with its head up as if looking around, then wandered down the street. It seemed to glance at street signs as it went, and paved roads turned to gravel as it left the town and headed into the country.

Several miles down the road, the dog turned sharply into an empty field and passed through a high hedge as if it were a ghost. Beyond the hedge were tall wrought iron gates which appeared to have been abandoned to rust and creeping ivy.

The dog raised itself onto its haunches and in a swirl of movement it began to change. Claws elongated into pale fingers, its black fur became long curling hair and a sweeping cloak, and a boy stood at the iron gate. He shook himself and sniffed, then picked up his stick from the ground and tapped on the gate.

At once, the gate swung open onto a gravel lane which had not been visible from the outside. The boy stepped inside and the gate swung shut behind him. A shimmer passed over it, and the sturdy wrought iron bars once again faded into rust.

At the end of the gravel lane stood a mansion. Its face was grey marble, the grates in the windows black and uniform. At its entrance were large double doors with shining gold geometric patterns inlaid into copper. Above the doors were words etched into the stone, worn nearly flat with age: _Eskhatos ekhthros katargeitai o thanatos._

The boy began to lift a heavy iron knocker on one of the doors, then paused and gently lowered it back into its plate. The boy tapped his stick on the intricate latch work sealing the doors together, griffins and stags interlaced by claws and antlers. For a moment the night was silent except for odd, high-pitched chirps and low grumbles coming from the hedges. Then, as if they had made a decision, the doors swung inwards to admit the boy.

The boy tiptoed over diamonds of black-and-white tile, shoes squeaking as he crossed the open space of the vestibule. He bent down to unlace his shoes and toed them off, wet cloak slapping loudly on the ground. As he stood, a sword slashed the air next to his ear, and he yelped rather like a dog having its tail trodden on.

“Intruders!” a suit of armor leapt at the boy, missing once again. “Brigands! Sound the alarm!” the armor bellowed, its voice echoing throughout the mansion.

“Shut up, Nigel,” the boy growled, stepping past it towards the stairs.

“How dare you, insolent scoundrel of the night! Midnight rider! Awake, awake! Defend the ancestral home!”

A door in the hall above creaked open and a dim light grew as a figure wandered forward.

“Nigel?” another boy emerged from the hall, pushing his glasses up his nose. He held his wand in front of him, which gave his expression an eerie cast in the darkness. “What’s all this then? Another gnome find its way in?”

“Young master!” the suit cried with triumph. “This reprobate has forced his way in under the cover of darkness-“

“Sirius!” the boy with the glasses ran down the stairs and flung himself on the other boy. He slapped the boy on the shoulder. “Got sick of your parents’ shite again?”

“Young master, this villain has –“

“Oh shut it, Nigel,” the boy with the glasses flicked his wand at the suit of armor, which went still. “You know we added Sirius to the wards.”

Sirius Black followed the boy up the stairs, where they nearly ran into an elderly witch and wizard stumbling out of the darkness with their wands raised.

“Nigel find another gnome?” the wizard with wild silver hair asked. “Oh, Sirius! Wonderful to see you, son.”

“Is that Sirius?” the elderly woman peered around her husband. She was stately, dressed in a silk robe and grey hair neat despite the hour.

“Effie!” Sirius greeted her with a hug. “Didn’t mean to wake you-“

The woman tutted and ran a finger over the boy’s cheek. In the light of her wand, there was a long scratch running from his ear to his chin. “Did that awful bitch get you again?”

“Not as much as she hoped,” Sirius winked. “How’s retirement? Did you see what they put in the Prophet yesterday?”

“That round faced weasel,” Euphemia Potter growled. “I can’t believe what passes for journalism these days. I’ve owled him nearly a dozen times with no reply. I’ve decided he is no longer invited to the annual holiday party.”

“Cold, Mrs. Potter,” Sirius replied. “Xenophilius reckons the man has a whole flock of nargals in his brain.”

“What are nargals, dear?” Euphemia frowned.

“No idea,” Sirius shrugged. “Have you ever been to a Muggle disco? Great stuff. You would not believe what these muggles wear.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Potter said with interest. “Do they-“

“Dad, he’s probably tired,” James Potter interjected. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Of course,” Euphemia Potter fixed Sirius with a look. “Don’t forget the dittany. James has some in his bathroom.”

“Good night,” Sirius said, and wandered off after James.

“How’d you get away? Thought they were keeping a tight leash these days.” James opened the door to a nearly empty bedroom.

“Gave them the slip as Padfoot,” Sirius smiled and sat on the bed. “Thought I’d crash here ‘till they send Kreacher after me.”

“Dad added something to the wards,” James replied, tossing dry clothes at his friend from a drawer. “Kreacher shouldn’t be able to apparate you out. Means we have to stay here though. As soon as we use the floo, he’ll know.”

“Not if we take Muggle transport,” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Right you are, Mr. Black. Should we alert the troops?” James grinned.

“I think you ought, Mr. Potter,” Sirius yawned. “I am napping forthwith.” 

James bowed. “Of course, Master Black. Please let me know if you will be needing anything.”

Sirius waved him out. 

“Sirius?” James hesitated in the doorway.

“Yeah?” Sirius peeled off his wet cloak and threw it on the floor.

James shook his head and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use speech to text software, so feel free to point out if I have any weird errors!


	2. The Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rewritten and reposted because I wasn't satisfied with it. tw: racial slur.

Sirius spread the map over the kitchen table, pushing his breakfast plate to the side to make space. It crinkled as he smoothed it flat, blue dye faded with sun.

“What station was it Remus said to meet him at?” Sirius squinted at the colored lines. A small hand reached over the tall table to take his plate, and it vanished with a pop.

“Er, Oxford Circus,” James blinked up at him. His end of the table was littered with charts and schedules, half-eaten eggy toast dripping onto the paper. “I think our best route is to take the bus to Salisbury, then take the train to Kings Cross.”

“Boys!” Mr. Potter called from the other room. “Don’t forget your Muggle clothes. I think I have some you can-“

James and Sirius looked up at the click of heels on tile. An owl hooted in the garden. The ancient willow by the pond could be heard in the distance, swishing as it greeted the sunlit day.

Mrs. Potter entered the kitchen and glanced at the maps strewn across the table. "Going somewhere?" She reached into the cabinets for a china teacup with gold edging that shone as she turned. 

"Back to London," Sirius replied. "You know how mother misses me when I'm away." 

Mrs. Potter pursed her lips. "I do wish you'd stay for a bit, dear. I can owl Walburga-"

Sirius shook his head. “I can see the headline now. 'HOUSE OF POTTER KIDNAPS BLACK HEIR.'”

James snorted, and Euphemia turned and raised an eyebrow at Fleamont Potter.

Mr. Potter winced. “Euphemia, darling, Sirius is a minor. His mother-“

Mrs. Potter snorted. “I am a member of the Wizengamot! I can take her.”

“Mum-“ James started.

Sirius shook his head, and James went quiet. “Mrs. Potter, I need to go.” He met James’ eyes. “Besides,” Sirius leaned back in his chair and smiled, “she can’t kill me, I’m still the heir.”

“Really!” Mrs. Potter put her teacup down on the marble countertop with a sharp clack. 

“I’ve an idea!” Mr. Potter turned with a pop of air. 

Mrs. Potter sighed and sat at the table next to James, idly flattening down his hair. “Darling, I wish you would-“

“It’s the style, mum,” James dodged her touch.

“If that were true,” Euphemia sipped at her tea, “your father’s factory wouldn’t be shipping out at least a thousand jars of Sleekeazy’s a week.”

“Here we go!” Mr. Potter popped back into the room, followed by an ancient house elf with knobby hands. He took two small wrapped parcels from the elf, brandishing one at each of the boys.

Sirius removed the cloth wrappings to find a small mirror rimmed in embossed silver. “Oh,” he turned it over, then back again. “It's very, er-”

James groaned. "He spends enough time in front of the mirror as is!"

Sirius snatched James' glasses off his nose. "Sirius," he imitated James, staring into his mirror and ruffling at his hair, "does my hair look windblown, or is it just messy?"

James snatched his glasses back, and Mr. Potter stepped between the boys. "Look into the mirror," Mr. Potter instructed, "then call the name of the wizard or witch who possesses the other mirror."

"Sirius Black!" James tried, peering down into his mirror.

James' nostrils appeared in Sirius' mirror.

“I call it the two-way mirror,” Mr. Potter clapped his hands together. “Haven’t thought about marketing it yet, but your boys’ feedback would be much appreciated.”

“Well,” Mrs. Potter looked between the boys and her husband. “Sirius, you must keep that mirror on you at all times, or I shall ensure the wards at Grimmauld will be broken for the first time in centuries.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Potter said. “As I was saying, I expect I can charm my Muggle clothes to fit the both of you. And you’ll be needing that funny paper currency, of course,” he turned and popped out of existence.

“We ought to go,” James folded up the timetables and stacked them atop a copy of _Magical Inventor’s Quarterly_. “With muggle transport we’ll already be there after Remus floos in with his dad at Whitehall.

“Oh, Remus will be there?” Mrs. Potter smiled. “Do tell him hello for me, and send my best regards for his mother’s health.”

“Has something happened?" James asked. Euphemia frowned.

"We'll tell him," Sirius grabbed James by the shoulder and wheeled him out of the room. "Bye!" 

*

Sirius and James nearly missed the bus when Sirius attempted to stride on without paying. His protestations to James that the last time he’d ridden the bus he’d been a dog, so how should he know, were not met well by the driver. The wad of paper money shoved into the driver’s hand by James had been far better received. 

They trundled then chugged through several Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty while Sirius snored on the sill, then terminated at Kings Cross. On a Saturday in early August, Sirius was buffeted back and forth by passing travelers as he squinted at signs for the Tube.

“Walthamstow Central’s the blue one, innit?”

“What’s the matter, Padfoot?” James said, not bothering to glance at the Tube map. “Trouble seeing your colors?”

“Should use lumos on Prongs again,” Sirius shoved him. “Solid hour of peace and quiet’d do me good.” He glanced at the map again. “’S this way.”

Descending into the Tube, Sirius could smell piss and burning rubber. As his hand slid down the banister, he could feel the collected grease from thousands of sweaty hands before him. Fluorescents flickered to dimly illuminate a row of printed advertisements with still images. He grinned.

Sirius followed the trail of muggles through plastic gates, and flinched in shock as one slammed down nearly atop him with a loud electronic beep.

James yanked him back. “They’ve got little bits of paper, see?” He pointed.

Sirius squinted, then held out a hand. “Give us a couple of those paper notes, will you?”

James held them out, and Sirius tucked them in the sleeve of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” James frowned. Sirius pulled the papers from his sleeve. They were now shorter, rounded out the corners, and had text printed across it that read Walthamstow Central.

“Are you trying to get the Ministry on us?” James muttered, glancing around at the crowds of muggles.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “How often do you think my family members have performed magic in the presence of a muggle? And how many times do you think the Ministry has sent them an owl?” He patted James on the shoulder. “This is what we do donations for, old boy. As long as it doesn’t make the papers the ministry has their precious Statute intact.”

“Well,” James took his ticket. “On your head, then.” He brandished the ticket at the fare gate and strode forward. It did not move. Sirius took the ticket from him and attempted to repeatedly jam it in the slot by the fare gate. The crowd of muggles had begun to part around them, muttering about bloody tourists.

James hit the gate with a sound thump to the metal side.

“What?” Sirius stared at him.

James shrugged. “It’s what Professor Foster does when a Muggle electronic isn’t working.”

“Hey, you two!” a Muggle transportation officer pointed at them, forcing his way through the crowd. “What do you think you’re doing?”

James straightened. “Oh, good. Can you fix your gate? It seems to be broken.”

The officer snatched the ticket from him and examined the blank backside, narrowing his eyes. “What do you think you’re playing at, Paki? This is obviously counterfeit. I ought to have you arrested.”

James stared at the man for a moment. “I am not from Pakistan,” he said slowly, as if he thought the man rather thick. “And if you are incapable of fixing your machine, you ought to do your job and find someone who can.”

The officer turned bright red, and Sirius stepped in front of James. “Sir,” Sirius said with his crispest vowels, “my friend and I are touring London for the day. We would appreciate your assistance in acquiring the necessary means of paying our fare.” He opened his hand to reveal a paper note, which had reverted to its original form when he pulled it back out of his sleeve.

The officer eyed him for a long moment. “Use the bloody machine,” he pointed. “And see your friend behaves himself.”

Sirius nodded and tugged James, whose hand was twitching in the sleeve of his own shirt, towards the machines. A woman with dark textured hair and a child strapped to her chest noticed them attempting to fold a paper note into the machine slot, and pointed to another machine where they could receive exact change.

They made it on to the platform just as the train screeched to a stop and muggles began to pour in, occupying all the seats and the standing handles. Sirius and James stood sandwich between bodies, stumbling back and forth as the train lurched forward and screeched to a halt at each stop.

“How far are we?” James muttered.

Sirius looked up at the line map above the doors. A pleasant voice announced over the intercom that they were at Tottenham Hale.

“Ah,” Sirius said. 

“Ah?” James glared at him.

“It appears we’ve been travelling in the wrong direction.” 

*

“Land!” James stumbled out of Oxford Circus Station, pausing to hop twice on the cobblestones.

“And you say I’m dramatic,” Sirius muttered, winking at a girl in a flowing skirt who stared at him when he leaned against the bars of the stairwell.

James pulled at his pointed collar, which lay overtop a grey striped suit jacket. His pants, like Sirius’, ended at the knee. Below them were high white socks inside shining leather oxfords. “Bit hot out, don’t you think? Haven’t muggles got better fabrics for this sort of weather?”

“Oh Merlin,” said a voice nearby, and Sirius’ head swiveled towards the sound. The boy staring at them wore a collared button-down with shirt underneath, tucked into a sensible pair of trousers with a belt. His skin had gone red in the sun and there was a smattering of freckles across his nose. His lips twitched as he took in James and Sirius' short suit pants and tall socks.

James strode forward, pausing a foot away to stare up at the boy. He craned his neck and squinted into the sun. “WHO IS THIS RUGGED SPECIMEN OF MANHOOD?” he cried. Several of the muggle passers-by turned to stare. “HELLO, CAN YOU HEAR ME UP THERE? MY NAME IS JAMES POTTER-“

The boy turned, if possible, even redder and gave sheepish looks to the passers-by.

“Jamie,” Sirius sniffed, reaching up to rub his hand on the side of Remus’ face. “Our little Remy-pie is all grown up.” He poked a finger at Remus’ upper lip. “He practically has a mustache!”

Remus twitched backward and slapped the finger away. “I don’t know them,” he announced, looking around. “They’re completely mad. Please help.”

“Our little boy’s gone and become a man,” Sirius wiped imaginary tear from his eye and swooned against James.

“I’ve decided it’s time for new friends,” Remus turned away. He took a step towards a gentleman reading a newspaper on a nearby bench. “You look like a levelheaded bloke. Would you like to be my friend?”

The elderly man glared at Remus over his newspaper and gathered it closer to himself.

Remus turned back to James and Sirius. “What took you so long? It’s bloody hot out. I thought if I left the station you might be sadly wandering around London until you perished from heat exhaustion.”

“Muggle transport is more difficult than it looks,” Sirius admitted.

“Plus I accidentally sat in some piss and Sirius got gum stuck to his shoe,” James nodded. “But we have braved the wilds of the Underground and emerged victorious.”

“Got here, didn’t we?” Sirius spread his arms. “Show us the sights.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I’m Welsh. You live here, theoretically.”

“Theoretically indeed, Monsieur Moony. I have, on occasion, gazed out the drawing room window to stare at the streets below. Unfortunately, mother insists that I not mingle with the vulgar masses.”

Remus swiped a hand over his forehead and shook off sweat. “Oxford Street’s got some shopping,” he began to walk, and the others followed.

“Heard from Pete?” James valiantly fought the crowds to stand beside Remus.

“Still at Seaham for the week.”

“Lucky bastard,” James sighed. “What about you? Did you go to, whatsit-“

“Croatia. Lovely time. Saw some sheep, change of scenery for me. Went to the snake oil peddler my da heard about. Forked over a pile of galleons so I could drink a potion that tasted like piss.” Remus paused. “Pretty sure it was actually piss.”

“Sounds legitimate,” Sirius offered.

“How terrible,” James sighed. “This was the one, then. Suppose it was inevitable. No more midnight rides for the marauders.” 

Remus snorted. “Tosser.” He pointed at a shop with display mannequins. “Reckon you both ought to start there.”

Sirius tilted his head at the mannequin, then looked around at the muggle crowds. “Bit dated, innit? Seems like something middle-aged men are wearing.”

Remus shrugged. “’S what I’m wearing.”

James threw an arm around Remus’ shoulder and tickled his ear. “Yes Moony, we know you were born middle-aged. But we are young men of fashion with reputations to uphold. What will all our lovestruck admirers think?”

Remus elbowed him in the ribs, shaking off the arm. “Don’t think you can get much more dated than what you’re wearing. My tad-cu wore that in some photographs from the Second World War.”

James squawked, but Sirius grabbed him and turned his face to follow his gaze.

“What am I looking at?” James squinted, not bothering to remove the palm pressed into his jaw.

Sirius pointed at a group of young people wearing T-shirts and sunglasses, brightly colored pins affixed to their shoulder bags. “Don’t you think?”

“Of course. I quite agree.” James took off in pursuit of the group of young muggles. Remus followed with one brief look heavenward when Sirius strode alongside James.

A short few blocks down Oxford Street and two turns later, they entered a narrow street over which hung a sign: “CARNABY STREET WELCOMES THE WORLD.” To the left and right were colorful storefronts, one covered in tie-dye that read “Yesterday’s Bread,” another with live models in the windows that read “SIR HARRY” and “LADY JANE.” Young people of every shape, size, and description crowded the small street. On the sidewalks were booths for sellers pushing knickknacks; one displayed a wall of round shining pins that announced “Stop nuclear power- before it stops you!” and “Peace: By popular demand!”

A loud growling chugging noise filled the street as a motorbike made its way through the crowd. The biker stopped at a curb, dismounted, and kicked the stand down. He wore a studded leather jacket, and when he pulled off his helmet long hair tumbled out.

Sirius watched the man stride into a shop. As the door opened, music filtered out. _Ooh, you’re making me live now honey!_

“I think I’m in love,” Sirius announced.

“It’s sleek, that’s for sure,” James approached the bike. “Bet Professor Foster knows how it works.”

“Brilliant, how the muggles make it sound like that,” Sirius tapped the chrome.

“Before we get arrested,” Remus pulled Sirius away from the bike, where he had started to get a leg over, “why don’t we take a look at the record shop?”

“Our ideas man,” James slung an arm around Remus’ shoulder. “Plenty of time to be arrested later.”

The bell tinkled as the shop door opened, and the cashier looked up from his comic book. Music filtered out from the shop: _Ooh, you’re my best friend!_

“What’s this singer?” Sirius glanced back at Remus.

The cashier put his comic down. “That’s Queen, that is. You been living under a rock?”

Sirius looked down his nose at the cashier. “Worse. The ancestral home. They rarely let me out. Queen, you said?”

Remus wandered off to browse a box of discount records while Sirius and James followed the cashier down the aisle.

“Yes, for a record machine. Runs on electric,” Sirius pulled a record from a sleeve which read _Honky Chateau_ and turned it this way and that. 

“Well, it don’t run on magic,” the clerk eyed Sirius and James’ cut off trousers and high socks.

“Well of course it wouldn’t,” Sirius nodded.

Eventually, James extracted Remus from the discount bin and shoved a wad of cash in his hands. Remus blinked at it for a moment. “Haven’t you learned anything from Muggle studies?” Remus said, counting cash to match the total at the till.

James waggled his eyebrows. “That’s what we have you for, isn’t it?” He grabbed the record Remus was holding and added it to the total. Remus started to protest, but James pressed a finger against his mouth.

“Shh, consider it payment for services rendered. Sirius and I were far too posh to learn maths.”

Remus licked the finger and James shrieked, wiping it on Remus’ cheek. 

Sirius tutted. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. No dignity whatsoever.” He handed his bag of records to James.

“Why should I have to carry your shite?” James complained, trying to hand the bag back.

“I’m sure mother would have a wonderful time throwing them against the wall,” Sirius stepped back onto the street. He paused. “You know what, Prongs? I think I’ve been a terrible son.”

James nodded. “Just no interest in torturing muggleborns. Not even a Dark Arts fetish. For shame.”

“Exactly,” Sirius nodded. “Which is why I ought to acquire a gift for mother.”

James grinned. “How thoughtful. What do you suggest?”

Sirius scanned the street, narrowing his eyes. His eyes fixed on a point across the street and he froze, then bounded off towards it.

The shop neatly fit into a space a realtor would call “garden level.” A laminated banner on the rusting stairwell read _Pleasure Garden XXX_.

There was no one in the shop when they entered it. On the far wall there were posters of women. Women washing their cars, women laying on their beds, women bending over to retrieve dropped objects. Sirius charged toward them.

“Permanent sticking charm ought to do the trick.”

“Muggles and everything,” James grinned. “She’ll lose her mind.”

“What’s left of it,” Sirius nodded, poking around the poster bin. “The little swim suit, do you reckon?”

When Sirius was halfway through the bin of numbered posters, the shopkeeper emerged from the back room.

“Out, out,” he waved his hands at them. “Sign on the door says no one under 18.”

Sirius held up two poster rolls. “I’ll buy these.”

The shopkeeper looked at him, then glanced at the door. With a grunt, he snatched the posters from Sirius and went to the till. 

James handed the money to Remus, who paid the cashier. The cashier gave Remus a look. “You and your friends don’t come back, you hear me?” He said this loudly while glancing at the stairs, as if someone might be listening.

“I’m afraid you’ve got us wrong, sir,” Remus replied. “They aren’t my friends. I decided to get new friends.”

The shopkeeper scowled and ushered them out. Sirius tucked the posters into his suit jacket; once there, they seemed to disappear.

It took several clothing stores for Sirius to find T-shirts, sunglasses, and a leather jacket. James got muggle jeans and a sport jacket with a team icon of a lion on it. 

“You can just try them on!” Sirius exclaimed. “Don’t have to be poked with a hundred bloody needles to be fitted! Absolutely brilliant, these muggles.”

As the afternoon wore on and James became increasingly laden with Sirius’ bags, his body drooped towards the floor. Remus offered to take a couple, but James waved him off.

“Didn’t you just send an owl that the last moon ripped that shoulder out? What we should do is go to Diagon. Nobody’d know if I did a little shrinking charm there. Plus,” he took in Remus’ reddened complexion, “we could get Fortescue’s.”

Remus perked up. “Toffee ice?”

Sirius sighed. “Got to face the doxies sometime.”

By the time they made it to the Leaky Cauldron, James’ hair had expanded in all directions and Sirius’ hung stringy and limp. They grunted at Tom, the assistant barkeep, as they filtered through to the back of the pub. Remus shook his wand out of the sleeve of his shirt and yawned as he tapped at the bricks in a circular pattern.

James sidled his way through the wall as the bricks rumbled and peeled back. “Can’t bloody wait until I get my apparition license. Can’t believe the Ministry won’t let us have a go at it before we’re seventeen.” His oxfords caught on crooked cobblestones while witches and wizards in flowing robes stared at his knees. Above them, the pointed roofs of the alley curved to block out sunlight. James threw himself down at a round white table with matching white chairs. The shop entrance next to them bore a large ice cream cone, which twirled and shouted “Try our orange marmalade!” at intervals.

James handed a few sickles to Sirius and poked at the bags under the table with his wand. A moment later, Sirius and Remus wandered back out and the three boys sat in silence while they licked at their cones. Across the street, a young girl and her mother, both in muggle jeans, wandered into a store with dusty windows whose peeling lettered sign read _Ollivander’s_.

Remus bit into his cone. “Did you read the Prophet this morning?”

“Can’t around my mum,” James slurped at his cone. “It’s making her barmy. But it’s not like there are a lot of alternatives.”

“Could buy a _Quibbler_ off Xeno,” Sirius snickered.

Remus leaned forward. “People are disappearing in London,” he lowered his voice. “A six year old witch was taken near King's Cross just last night. My da almost forgot to take me with him to Whitehall on the way to work.”

James’ ice cream had begun dripping down his hand. He leaned forward. “What'd your da tell you?”

Remus. "The ministry thinks it's...werewolves. Bloody superstitions come up whenever children go missing. Ridiculous, of course. Like a werewolf would decide to specifically target children."

James snorted. "Clearly they've never seen a werewolf go mad for blood. Doesn't matter if the poor bastard in their path is old as Merlin. Uh, no offense."

Remus shrugged.

Sirius had gone quiet. He looked up, brow furrowed. "Near King's Cross? Last night?"

Suddenly, there was a pop of air, and a house elf appeared directly beside Sirius. It had watery, drooping eyes and a curved smile. Its long fingers reached out to grasp Sirius’ arm in a vise.

“Bloody-!” Sirius yelped as his lavender ice dropped to the cobblestones. With a pop of air, he and the house elf disappeared.

James and Remus stared at the empty chair for a moment. “Don’t know how Kreacher always manages to surprise us,” James said to the chair. “‘S not like we didn’t know he was coming.”

Remus finished his cone while James threw the rest of his in the trash and sat kicking at loose cobblestones. A young boy in Eeylops next door giggled as he walked out with a rat dancing on his palm.

James sighed and stood. “See you on the train, then,” he gave Remus a salute and wandered back towards the floo, frowning down at the single bag in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it matters to you, I head canon James as mixed, the Potters are British and his mom's side is Egyptian given her name, possibly also Greek if you fancy. Her name means "well spoken," so I thought she might have been an editor at the Prophet for a time. I'm also quite fond of Desi James though. I headcanon Sirius as of Eastern European descent. But I'm also fond of East Asian Sirius. Remus is Welsh and gets a red sunburn here, interpret him as you will. Anyway. Imagine them all as you like, really. Whatever you want them to be, that's what they are.


	3. The Jackass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of your lovely comments thus far! <3

Remus woke to a burst of applause. Beside him, Lily clapped for the speech by the new Head Girl, Adelaide Culpeper. He had fallen asleep against the cool windowpane of the prefect’s compartment to the gentle tinkle of rain on the metal roof and rhythmic chugging of train wheels.

Lily was tugging at his sleeve and Remus stood and followed her out of the carriage, glancing back as the other prefects mingled with tea and cauldron cakes.

“I can’t believe it!” Lily said.

“Right,” Remus replied.

“Ramsey Dankworth! He wasn’t even a prefect last year. Has to be Slughorn’s doing. And did you see how he didn’t clap for Adelaide!”

“Er,” Remus avoided Lily’s gaze. 

“You fell asleep again, didn’t you?” Lily paused at the end of the carriage. 

“I caught the beginning bit,” Remus said. “Exciting new year, we’ll all be wonderful friends…”

“Alright, yes,” Lily snorted. “Then she started talking about what a difficult time it is, and how important it will be for all of us to support one another. And Ramsey just sort of crossed his arms, didn’t give a speech.”

“Oh,” Remus winced.

“Exactly!” Lily tucked her hair behind her ear, face flushing. “That’s what I thought.” She opened the compartment door and went into the next carriage. “It’ll make it difficult for us to appeal anything if a Slytherin Head Boy disagrees with us. Adelaide is sweet, but you know she likes to keep the peace.” 

Remus looked through an empty compartment to gaze out the window. They had left Kings Cross perhaps twenty minutes ago, and the English suburbs were dotted with rolling hills. 

“Anyway,” Lily looked at Remus again, bright green eyes taking him in. “How was your summer? And how’s your mum?”

“Oh,” Remus let his gaze drift down the carriage. “She’s fine, thanks. Problem with her shoulder this time. I-“ Remus paused. Down at the far end of the carriage, in the luggage rack, he had seen something move. He looked up; Lily seemed to have noticed it too. She gave Remus a conspiratorial nod and took out her wand. 

“Contraband, do you think? Perhaps a prank? Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“I don’t think so,” Remus said, watching the shadows of the rack. “It looked big. Maybe someone’s tried to bring a dog again.”

“Alright, game’s up!” Lily announced, pointing her wand at the luggage rack and looking around at the nearby compartments. “Fess up now if you don’t want to be scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the year!”

A ball of clay colored limbs burst from the back of the luggage rack. Lily stumbled backward into Remus, who pitched sideways into the rack with a grunt. 

The figure on the ground dripped clay soil. As wet chunks of mud fell to the floor, four thin limbs unfurled. Fingers snapped apart drying dirt and reached for a curtain of hair. Behind the long brown hair, a young girl’s face emerged. 

Lily gave Remus a look, then put her wand away and crouched down beside the child on the floor. “Hello,” Lily said. “I’m Lily, and this is Remus. What’s your name?”

“Shannon Baker,” the girl watched Lily’s hand as it re-emerged without her wand. 

“Hi Shannon,” Lily smiled, standing from her crouch and offering the girl a hand up. “I haven’t seen you around before. You’re a first year, aren’t you?”

“I want to go home,” Shannon said.

Lily stood next to Remus. “If this was one of your friends, I swear,” she whispered, low.

“Lily. Look at what she’s covered in. Do you really think my mates did this?”

Lily’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…”

“Shannon,” Remus crouched down and gave the girl a friendly smile. “Why don’t we go have some biscuits and tea, and we’ll get this all sorted.”

“I can go home?” Shannon wiped mud from her nose.

“If you like,” Remus nodded. “But first we’d like to get you cleaned up and figure out what happened. Is that okay?”

Shannon nodded and stood. At Lily’s announcement, compartment doors had flung open and heads peered out to see what was happening. 

“Back in your compartments,” Lily announced. “I’m a prefect, go on.”

Compartment doors slid shut around them, but faces were pressed to the frosted glass panes as they walked to find an empty compartment. 

Lily used a cleansing charm to clean Shannon’s robes, and they all sat. Shannon looked up at Lily. “Do you have biscuits?”

When Lily returned, Remus’ full attention was focused on Shannon, and he nodded at intervals.

“And everyone was in the compartments, because we’d been running late. Who’d ever heard of a Platform 9¾? And my mum helped me lift the trunk into the train and I pulled it on wheels but the lower racks were full and I couldn’t get it up. And there was one boy I asked for help but he didn’t hear me so I touched his arm, and he said something like, “Don’t touch me filthy muddy blood.” And then he pointed his wand at me and I was covered in mud and his friends laughed and I hid and then I wasn’t sure what to do so I stayed.” The girl looked up at Remus. “I don’t know what I did.”

Lily cracked open the roll of butter biscuits and handed one to Shannon. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That boy is going to be in a lot of trouble. Do you remember what he looked like?”

Shannon nibbled on the edge of her biscuit and accepted a cup of tea. “He was blonde, his hair was almost white? And he was very tall and very skinny.”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?” Lily asked.

Shannon paused as she went for second biscuit. “Wizard robes. And he had on a green and silver tie.”

“If that’s not Avery, I’m a puffskein,” Remus muttered.

“I think it’s a mistake,” Shannon tugged at her robes. “I’m not really a witch. I should go home.”

“You are a witch!” Lily frowned. “And you deserve to be here just like anyone else.”

“But the boy said that my mum and dad-“

“My parents are muggles, and I’m a witch,” Lily said.

The girl eyed her. “What are muggles?”

“Oh,” Lily stumbled. “Muggles are just non-magical people.”

“My mum’s a muggle,” Remus offered. “She likes to watch Top of the Pops. Does your mum like that?”

The girl took another biscuit. “She likes that Billy Ocean,” she chattered, taking another sip of her tea.

After half the biscuit role was gone, Remus and Lily shepherded Shannon to a compartment with other first years. Two eagerly chatted with Shannon about Top of the Pops, while another attempted to explain what a telly was to a confused looking boy.

Lily marched forward, flinging open compartment doors as she went and ignoring the startled expressions of the occupants.

“Carry on,” Remus said to a dumbfounded third year deep in a box of Jelly Slugs.

“I’m going to kill him,” Lily said.

“As much as I think murder would be satisfying and I would of course help you hide the body, perhaps we should have a plan.” Remus replied.

“The plan is to dock at least 100 points and assign Myrtle’s bathroom for the rest of his time at Hogwarts,” Lily growled. “Where is he?” she charged through a dividing compartment into the next carriage.

“Snivellus!” Remus heard the voice echo down the hall. “I see the humidity’s getting you down. Don’t worry, Madam Pomphrey has something for spots I’m sure will work even in cases like yours. What was that? Ooh, tetchy!”

“Don’t worry, James. I’m sure he meant no disrespect. Just having a bit of a chinwag, aren’t you lads?” came another voice, followed by a flash of light. Laughter broke out and James Potter emerged from the compartment, fending off a hex as he slapped Sirius on the back. James, Sirius, and Peter began to dash down the corridor but stopped abruptly before they ran into Remus and Lily.

“Moonbeam!” James cried, throwing his arms wide. “I’ve missed you so terribly. Tell mummy how you’ve been.”

Remus crossed his arms over his chest. “You saw me a couple weeks ago. What did you just do?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Sirius grinned, running a hand through his hair to push it back. “Wotcher, Moony.”

“Pete,” Remus turned to the smallest member of the group.

“Hey Remus,” Peter waved. “Nice summer?”

Lily pushed forward towards the still open compartment, the boys following behind. “Why are their chins doing that?”

“A little chinwag!” James announced. “Brilliant, isn’t it? I imagine that’s why they can’t manage the counter spell.”

“Der chins jus kep doin dis,” Peter demonstrated, waggling his jaw from side to side.

“And why would you do that, Potter?” Lily crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow.

James shrugged. “They deserved it.”

“That’s funny,” Lily stepped closer to him, “because what I heard was you harassing other students.”

“Ah yes,” James nodded. “That is on account of the fact that Snivellus and his slimy friends are gits, my Lily flower.”

Lily whirled towards the compartment door and snapped out, “Finite!” The group of Slytherins’ chins stopped moving. She turned back to James. “I am not yours, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor. Go,” she pointed down the corridor.

“Aw, Lily,” James complained. “It’s your house cup too!”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that,” Lily snapped. She charged into the compartment and pointed a finger at Avery. “You. Fifty points from Slytherin, and I’m speaking to your head of house about your punishment. Don’t expect to be playing Quidditch anytime soon.”

“Don’t know what you’re on about,” Avery dismissed Lily as he turned away.

“Fifty points for something you didn’t see happen, ten points for something you did,” Rabastan Lestrange drawled. “Seems prejudiced to me.”

“We ought to report her to the Head Boy,” Avery agreed. “It seems she doesn’t know her station.”

“And what station is that?” Lily hissed, pointing her wand at Avery.

“Why, your position as a prefect, of course. What else would I be referring to?” Avery smiled. Behind him, Mulciber laughed and Regulus Black smirked. Severus Snape remained silent, watching.

“Couldn’t be that she’s a mudblood bitch,” Rabastan said to the howls of delight of Mulciber and Avery.

Lily flicked her wand, but Remus caught her arm and the spell landed on the seat beside Rabastan.

“A prefect, attacking students?” Regulus tsked. “Do go on. I’m sure we’d all be delighted to see you lose your badge.” 

Lily did not attempt another spell. Her outstretched arm trembled with fury, and she seemed to be so angry she couldn’t speak. 

“Sixty points from Slytherin,” Remus raised an eyebrow. “We’ll be writing a report for both Professor Slughorn and the Headmaster.”

“Do enjoy yourself, Lupin.” Rabastan smiled. “Sluggy’s terrified we’ll tell the Dark Lord he’s colluding with Dumbledore, and that barmy old fool and house points won’t matter very soon.” 

“That so, Lestrange?” James stepped forward, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Brave of you to say that behind his back. Looks like you’ll be at Hogwarts for at least another year, though, doesn’t it? Gives us plenty of time,” he turned to Sirius, who was watching Regulus. “Could be itching powder in his four poster. Though I doubt we’d be so obviously pedestrian.” He turned back to Rabastan. “I’ll just let you think on it.”

“Come on, James,” Remus said. James gave Rabastan a parting wink then followed the other Gryffindors out.

Lily stood in the corridor, her face nearly as red as her hair. Her fingers twitched compulsively over her wand and her lips were in a tight line.

“You were brilliant,” James grinned at Lily. “My passionate Lily flower with the fiery red hair.”

Sirius snorted.

James ran a hand through his hair and smiled. “Don’t worry. I can get him to leave you alone.”

Lily’s wand shot out, and this time her hex landed square on James’ throat. “I didn’t ask you to defend me. I can protect myself! And I. Am. Not. Yours.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a loud braying sound. His eyes went wide and he turned to Sirius, each word on his lips coming out as a panicked bray.

Sirius snickered. “Reckon she thinks you’re an ass, mate.”

James’ braying took on the quality of indignation as he turned to Remus.

“You deserved that,” Remus raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure it’ll wear off eventually.”

“Remus?” Lily bit her lower lip. “I’m going to go find Mary. Let me know if you need me?” She turned and hurried away without waiting for his reply.

“Smooth, Prongs,” Sirius shook his head.

*

Shannon, after briefly disappearing with Professor McGonagall, was sorted into Hufflepuff. When she removed the hat from her head and saw her house clapping for her, she grinned and skipped over to the table. 

“Oh thank god,” Remus heard Lily mutter. She was flanked by Mary MacDonald and Lobelia Clearwater, who shot poisonous looks at James every few seconds.

At that moment, Sirius leaned over, his hair dragging on Remus’ shoulder. “Where’s the old sausage got to?”

Dumbledore’s place at the head of the table was empty. Remus clapped for each sorting and joined the enthusiastic cheering when Ayanna Griffiths’ younger brother was sorted into Gryffindor.

“Yang, Min,” Professor McGonagall called out. The girl took her place at the stool and was sorted into Slytherin.

A hush fell as McGonagall removed the stool. The tables remained empty of food, and as the pause lingered students started to chatter.

Double doors at the end of the hall flung open with a hollow boom. Professor Dumbledore strode through them and down the center aisle. His robes, purple silk with twinkling stars, flowed behind him. When he reached the stage, his eyes swept the gathered crowd over his spectacles. The hall fell silent.

“Welcome, each and every one of you, to another year at Hogwarts. Each and every one of you.” He paused. Some of the students turned to look at one another. A few shrugged, as if to say, _Dumbledore_.

“What a wonderful time, beginnings. To see so many possibilities and to have the adventure of seeking them. At least until the realities of papers and exams have set in.” He smiled out at the gathered students. 

“Possibilities are what I want each of you to see in this castle. You should be able to pass through these doors secure in the knowledge that they have been flung wide for your growth. Magical gifts are something each of you possesses. This is not to be debated.” Dumbledore’s gaze grew sharper, and Remus felt as if that gaze looked directly at him. Several other students in the hall stiffened. 

“It has come to my attention that some students have taken it upon themselves to decide who they feel worthy of entering this castle. Know this. I consider it my job to personally ensure the safety of every student at this school. I will not tolerate threats to any student’s ability to reach their potential. Each and every one of you belongs here. I hope I have made myself clear.” He nodded, then spread his arms wide. “As always, the Whomping Willow ought to be avoided by anyone who prefers their eyes intact, and the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden. Welcome home to Hogwarts.” 

Down the centers of four long wooden tables appeared roasts, pies, peas and carrots and corn buttered on the cob. Students began to pile food on their plates, and after a lingering quiet chatter and laughter filled the hall.

“Sorry mate, didn’t catch that,” Sirius cupped a hand around his ear. “Pasty? Drumstick?”

James jabbed a finger once again at the mince pies.

“Speak up, bit loud in here. Mushy peas?” Sirius passed James the dish of peas.

James opened his mouth and let out a loud bray, which sent Mary and Lobelia into fits of giggles.

“Annunciate, Potter.” Sirius reached over and tapped James’ nose with a drumstick. James made a swipe for it, but Sirius had already snatched it back. 

Peter forked a mince pie onto James’ plate, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Kiss up,” Sirius turned away from them both and shouted down the table to Ayanna Griffiths, his fellow beater on the Gryffindor quidditch team.

After the pumpkin pasties, chocolate cake, and sugar mice, Remus joined Lily to call the first year Gryffindors to them and head up the staircases to the common room. Lily paused on one stair and held out an arm to stop the first years.

“Now remember, on the final flight up to the Fat Lady you count five steps and then step over a stair.” Lily instructed. “Just like this,” she demonstrated, stepping over the stair.

“That’s right, children,” Sirius called from behind the first years. He pressed his way through them to step up the stairs. “One, two, three four five,” Sirius hopped onto each step, then took a dramatic leap. “Skip a step and stay alive!”

One of the first years getting ready to straddle the step froze. 

Sirius looked at him, then peered over the bannister down six flights of revolving stone staircases. “Long way to fall, innit?”

James let out a series of braying laughs.

“What’s wrong with ‘im?” a first year girl eyed James. 

“That,” Sirius’ tone became solemn, “is what happens when you’re a right ass. Incurable condition, unfortunately.”

Remus rolled his eyes and pushed Sirius up the stairs. “It won’t kill you,” Remus pressed one toe into the stair, which remained solid for several long seconds then suddenly vanished. He pulled his toe back. “Although,” he peered down through the gap in the stairs, “it’s not pleasant, so I would recommend you do try to remember.”

Remus returned from talking down homesick first years to find James gesturing at Sirius and slowly moving his lips to mouth words.

Remus grabbed the course schedule form on his pillow, reached inside his trunk, and initialed it with a quill. "Sirius?"

Sirius waved him off as he attempted to interpret James' increasingly vocal brays. He pointed to a bit of parchment. "Retaliation #46?"

"Course schedules," Remus waved his in the air. "Sirius, you ought to change yours again. Unless you want your mum to see you're taking Advanced Muggle Studies."

"Huh? Yeah, alright," Sirius blinked at him, then turned back to James. "With the mermaids? Might as well do it while it's still warm out."

Remus sighed. "I can't hear this."

Sirius gave him a thumbs up without turning around. "Good night, your prefectlyness."


	4. The Biro

James woke with the first rays of the sun filtering in through diamond shaped panes, energized and ready to greet the day. He brushed his teeth, put on his athletic gear, and pushed the window open. A rush of cool air entered the room, the breeze whistling past the high tower. He tipped his broom out the window and began to shimmy down the handle, then paused.

In the distance, James could see the high tower of the owlery with its many stone windows. Birds were pouring out of it, one after the other dropping then taking flight. The flock flew towards him in a dense cloud of brown, white, and grey feathers.

“Been pooped on enough for lifetime, thanks,” James tumbled back through the window with a clatter. A groan issued from one of the four posters.

“What kind of time do you call this?” Sirius’ head popped up from beneath his covers. His hair was rumpled, one side puffed sideways and the other laying flat. Bloodshot eyes glared at James.

“I call this morning,” James chirped.

“Well take your morning somewhere else,” Sirius laid back down and covered his face with a crimson duvet. “Some of us don’t act like bloody Pepper-Up addicts.”

“Just need a minute for the owls,” James replied.

“Owls?” Sirius groaned.

“The whole flock of school birds,” James looked out the window. “Likely the course schedules going to parents.”

Sirius shot up straight in bed. “What?”

Peter groaned and pulled his hangings shut. The space in the direction of Peter’s bed became silent, and James tapped his left ear as it adjusted to the odd lack of noise. “Yeah- oof.”

Sirius had barreled to the window, shoved James aside, then stared out at the owls in horror.

“Course schedules,” Sirius whispered.

“'S what I said,” James huffed. "Also, since I can talk again, about the mermaids-"

Sirius ran back to his four poster and pulled his own Comet 220 from the wall. He swung the broom out the window and hurled himself atop it, clad only in a pair of striped boxers. He made his way through the thick cloud of owls with the agility afforded by desperation. A beater without bat or quaffle, he jabbed his wand out at one owl, then another, and soon a torrent of owls began to drop from the sky. 

James yelped and barreled out on his own broom. “Black!" James cast a cushioning charm on the roof, and the hurtling owls bounced off in a cloud of feathers. "Wait- Morgana’s saggy tits!” He took off his glasses with a grimace and wiped bird poop on his shirt. A sticky residue obscured his vision when he placed the glasses back on his face.

Sirius did an abrupt 180 degree turn midair to look at James. His black hair whipped about his face in the wind, and his eyes were wild with adrenaline. “Help.”

*

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore took toast in his office every morning before the breakfast hour began. He found this was the time during which he was least likely to be interrupted and could work on his correspondence. He put his phoenix feather quill back in its ink pot, folded the letter, and sealed it. Dorian (Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde had been simply excessive) held out a leathery leg and allowed Albus to affix his letter. Albus opened one of the windows of the high tower and Dorian preened there for a moment before he leapt. The bird was absolutely dashing when soaring, and in the early morning sunrise Albus liked to watch him fade into the horizon.

This all came to a halt when suddenly, as if he had hit a brick wall, Dorian rocked backwards in a pile of feathers and screeched his way towards the ground.

Albus apparated onto the rooftop, wand extended to slow the owl’s fall. With a disgruntled ruffle of feathers, Dorian recovered and landed on Albus’ shoulder, claws digging into his robes.

“Merlin’s hairy ballsack! Will you just-- look, we can make a net on the roof then sort through them-“

“No, I’ve got them alphabetical! Nearly got it!”

Two boys stood on the rooftop. In the distance they were small spots against grey shingles, but their voices echoed so that windows were beginning to creak open on the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Heads and omnioculars poked out of the opened panes. 

Above the boys hundreds of owls flew in confused circles, tumbling into one another with surprised squawks. Feathers rained down like snow.

“I’ve got it!” one of the boys yelled. He waved a letter in one hand and held a stunned owl and the other. “Should I change it to Arithmancy like last year?”

“Hurry up!”

“Done!” The boy reattached a letter to the stunned owl then tossed it into the air. It swerved drunkenly to the left and right but managed to stay aloft. “Well that’s my practice hour scuppered.”

“Oh come off it.”

“That’s gratitude for you. If I hadn’t seen-“

Albus disapparated, then reappeared approximately a foot behind the two boys. At the pop of air, they turned in unison.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter. Mr. Black.”

“Headmaster,” James Potter stuttered, working to come up with something to say. Sirius Black had gone quiet and waited with watchful eyes.

“The strangest thing happened,” Albus mused. “I had just finished scraping lemon curd over my toast when Dorian seemed to crash into a barrier.” Dorian, still on Albus’ shoulder, flapped his wings. “Did you boys see anything? Perhaps a particularly strong gust of wind?”

“Yeah,” James Potter babbled, “I went out, to practice,” he pointed at his broom. “And all these owls, they just started falling, so Sirius and I tried to help.” He looked over at Black.

“It’s possible they were confunded, Sir,” Black took over. “I put a cushioning charm on the roof to make sure they didn’t get hurt.”

Albus looked up at the birds, still flopping around in wayward circles and occasionally barreling into one another with a puff of feathers. “They do look rather confunded.” He smiled at the boys, and they visibly relaxed. “I believe your Head of House assigns detention, does she not? She won’t be best pleased to be woken at this hour.”

“Professor,” Potter began.

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Off you go.”

Potter hung his head. “Yes, sir. We’ll go straight away.”

“I would advocate,” Albus swept his gaze over them, “that Mr. Black visit the dormitory to put some trousers on first.”

*

Minerva McGonagall, in tartan robe and night cap, opened her door to see two boys with matching charming smiles.

“Professor, you are looking radiant,” James Potter winked. “Beach vacation with Elphinstone?”

“Mr. Potter. Mr. Black.” She looked them over. “I see no open wounds on either of you. How are the other students faring?”

James Potter reeled back and placed a hand on his chest. “The only wound is the one in my heart.”

Minerva crossed her arms over her chest. “What have you done?”

Sirius Black stepped forward. “I sent a letter in error. Naturally, I needed to retrieve my owl.” 

“Naturally,” Minerva raised an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, Beaky McPeckington had joined the flock of school owls. As you might imagine, it was rather difficult to find him with all the course schedules going out.” 

“I see. And what mistake did Beaky- your owl, carry that was of such importance?”

“A grammatical error, ma’am,” Black replied without missing a beat. 

“A grammatical error,” she sighed. “Mr. Black, in what state will I find the school flock?”

James Potter stepped forward. “It was an error that could not go to Sirius’ mother,” the boy raised his eyebrows. “I rather think if she had seen it, Sirius might be in Durmstrang tomorrow.” 

Minerva looked at the both of them. Black was glaring at Potter, who refused to meet his gaze. She mentally catalogued Black’s course schedule. “An error that would upset Walburga Black.”

“Exactly,” Potter raised his eyebrows. “It would’ve been a pity if she had- ouch!” Potter shook his foot and glared at Black.

The first day of classes, and she had not even had her tea yet. “Both of you will be polishing the trophy room for the next three nights.”

Potter brightened. “Thanks, Professor-“ 

Minerva shut the door in his face. Perhaps, she thought, she might have another half-hour of quiet before angst-ridden third years came to her to question their elective choices. 

*

Bright sunlight halls full of chattering students faded to a gray half-light as James, Sirius, and Remus descended broad stone steps into the dungeons. Portraits flitted through their frames as water dripped around gilded frames without disturbing centuries' old paint.

Sirius turned to one of the portraits. In it, the flickering light of oil lamps illuminated the painted tip of a witch’s hat poking over manicured rosebushes.

“Lucinda, you wouldn’t be following us again, would you?” Sirius pointed at the figure. The rosebush rustled. “Hoping to overhear something and report it to your snakey prefects?” Sirius tsked. “Naughty girl.”

The potions classroom resided at the end of a maze of corridors; two left turns, a right, a left, a flight of stairs up and another flight immediately downward. Entirely underground, every shelf in the stone room was covered in thousands of tiny stoppered glass vials. Heavy jars lining the floors glinted in flickering torch light.

Severus Snape was already seated at the front of the classroom. At the marauders’ entrance, he turned and sneered.

“Potter,” Severus smiled, showing rather too many teeth. “I heard your romantic overtures were less than well received.”

James’ brow furrowed, and he dropped his bag on one of the tables in the back of the room. “Jealous, Snivellus? Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to give you some attention soon.”

Avery, who had just entered the room with Muciber, made a loud braying noise. Severus smirked. “I thought it was rather poetic. Your true nature asserting itself.”

At that moment, Lily strode through the door. She ignored the boys and made her way to the front of the classroom as she had done for the past five years. Severus’ expression brightened, but Lily turned and occupied an empty table at the opposite side of the aisle from Severus.

“Oh ho!” James crowed. “Guess all isn’t forgiven, then? I’m sure you remember it, Snivellus. I know I won’t be getting the sight of your pants out of my mind anytime soon.”

“I have no interest in your perversions, Potter,” Severus hissed. “Lily-“

Lily turned towards Remus. “Peter’s not doing advanced potions, then?”

“Er,” Remus said, taken off guard. “No.”

“Well, Mary and Lobelia aren’t either,” Lily tucked her hair behind her ear and unloaded her cauldron. “Why don’t we be partners, then, Remus?” she smiled at him. 

Remus looked between James and Severus, then back at Lily. “Alright.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Severus huffed. “Lupin is mediocre at best. You and I are at the top of the class.”

“How’s your day been?” Lily ignored Severus and turned to Remus. “This weather is absolutely dreadful unless you’re swimming in the lake, don’t you think? I’m joining Mary after class if you’d like to come.”

James started sniggering at Severus’ thunderstruck expression, and Severus turned towards him in a whirl of robes. “Don’t know why you’re laughing. It isn’t you she sitting with, is it?” he snarled. “It looks as if she’s chosen Lupin.”

“Don’t be stupid,” James looked towards Lily and Remus. The smile dropped from his face. “It’s just Moony.”

Slughorn’s entrance and announcement that whoever brewed the best Draught of Living Death would win a vial of Felix Felicis made the entire classroom, even James and Sirius, fall quiet with concentration.

Severus kept glancing over at Lily, who was determinedly gazing into her cauldron. Remus let out a long sigh when his cauldron issued sparks, and Slughorn chuckled at James’ cauldron, which he said was “Inventive, my boy, just like your father! But quite risky…”

Finally, the hour was up. Slughorn began with the back of the classroom, then came to the front. When he saw Severus’ cauldron, he smiled. 

“Ingenious! You crushed the sopophorus bean rather than cutting it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Severus smirked. 

“Wonderful! Nearly perfect. I think one drop would kill us all.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Nearly perfect, sir?”

“I daresay. Seems your asphodel root was not quite as fine as it should’ve been. Not like you at all, Severus.”

“Sir,” Severus nodded, expression dark. 

“Oh dear, dear,” Slughorn passed over Remus’ cauldron. “I’m sure you’ll get it my boy, practice makes perfect. And oh, oh ho ho!” Slughorn’s broad mustache split with his wide smile. “Miss Evans, you never do disappoint! It’s absolutely perfect! Ten points to Gryffindor, and I do believe this is yours my dear,” Slughorn extended the vial of Felix Felicis and clapped for Lily. She smiled at Remus and tucked the vial into her robes.

James spoke very little at lunch and left early with Sirius to head to Muggle Studies while Remus went to Arithmancy.

The Muggle Studies classroom was located on the first floor in a rambling corridor past the entrance to the greenhouses. Invasive ivy crept down the hall and had formed cracks in the stone walls. Through the door of the classroom was a corridor of glass cabinets inside which lay a variety of Muggle objects; typewriters, vacuum cleaners, disassembled automobile parts, and even an ancient looking stove.

On the other side of the core door was a small classroom of salvaged metal desks with plastic orange tops. At the front of the room stood a woman in a long patterned skirt and blouse tinkering with a toaster oven. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and smiled when she saw James and Sirius.

“Hello boys. Come here,” she beckoned, and James and Sirius put their bags down on tables at the front of the room. “Look,” she pointed her wand at the electric cord extending from the toaster oven. A red light went on to indicate the toaster was ready, and she clapped once.

“How’d you do it?” James peered at the toaster.

“Stasis bubble,” she announced with pride. “It always works at first, the problem is when it begins to interact with the surrounding magic. I practiced at home this summer and I think I’ve got it. I brought bread and everything to demonstrate,” she pointed to some pieces of crusty bread on a plate.

“So you’re mixing Muggle electricity with magic,” Sirius observed. “I thought that wasn’t possible.”

“Someone has to be the first, Mr. Black,” Professor Foster winked. “Is there a reason you came early, boys? Or could you just not wait to be back?”

“Have you got any books on motorbikes?” Sirius peered at the shelves of Muggle books lining the classroom wall.

“Can I ask why? I have several books on muggle transportation.”

Sirius shrugged. “I just think they’re cool.”

Professor Foster’s lips twitched. “You and many people, Mr. Black.”

“We went to London,” James announced. “Rode the train that goes underground and everything.”

“The Tube,” Sirius corrected, looking at the Professor.

“Did you really?” she sat on her desk. “Tell me all about it.”

The few other advanced Muggle Studies students trickled in, and Professor Foster excitedly talked about electric heating coils and managed one piece of burnt toast before the toaster exploded. As it did, her wand snapped out and formed a protective shield between the flying bits of flaming metal and her students. She sighed, wrapped the toaster cord around smoking innards, and walked to place the toaster in the glass display cabinet.

“Well, I was going to talk about some theory I’ve written on the combination of magic and electricity, but it seems my theories need some fine tuning.” She pulled a small cardboard box from the cabinet and closed it. “I had been saving these for several weeks from now, but we might as well.”

Professor Foster pointed her wand at the cardboard box. It opened, and thin plastic sticks flew out. Two landed in front of each student. “These are Muggle quills. Muggles call them biros,” she wrote the word BIRO on the board. “You can see here,” she waved her wand at a remaining biro in her hand, which disassembled into its component parts, “there is a compartment for the ink, and at its tip there is a small metal ball which when you press on it distributes the ink.”

Several students pressed on the tip of the ballpoint, getting ink stains on their fingers. James raised his hand. “Professor, how do you refill the ink?”

“They aren’t made to be refilled, simply tossed in the bin and replaced. Muggles do make ones that can be refilled, sort of small metal quills, but they are considered old-fashioned.” The professor reassembled her biro with a flick of her wand. “I’d like you to use these in your classes to write your notes, and at the end of this week I’d like you to write a reflection on what writing in the muggle fashion was like.”

Several students exchanged glances with one another, but the professor seemed not to notice, her attention drifting back to the exploded toaster in the glass cabinet. “Any more questions on biros? No? Ok. Let’s just start on the history of muggle writing implements, then.”

James capped his biro and raised an eyebrow at Sirius. 

Sirius, who had opened a roll of parchment and was taking notes with his quill, wrote in the margin then casually tapped the note with his feather.

_Lestrange will piss himself when he sees us using these_

James smirked and wrote in the margin of his own parchment. _Can’t wait_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise remus/sirius and lily/james are coming y'all, but this is slow burn so give it another chapter or two. there are 23 chapters total and the fic is (very intensely) plotted.


	5. Toad in the Hole

Each morning at precisely 7 o’clock the broad timber and wrought iron doors of the Great Hall slid open. Inside, shafts of sunlight crossed one another through the high windows of the pitched roof. The tinkle of silverware from the professors at the high table and soft hoots of waiting owls accompanied echoes of shoes on stone. Down the centers of four long wooden tables were plates of eggs, sausages, beans, toast soldiers, rashers of bacon that stayed warm and steaming no matter how long one took to read the paper and drink milky tea.

Remus slid into a bench at the head of Gryffindor table, his back to the wall, able to gaze out at the empty hall. A large owl with a long hooked beak glided down from the rafters to land in front of him, claws clicking on scratched polish. Remus smiled and handed the bird a piece of eggy toast, removing the paper tied to its leg. Yes, he thought, unrolling the Prophet and starting on his tea. This was a good day. Nothing hurt too terribly, he was smack dab in the middle of the lunar cycle, and he had quiet and bacon.

“OI, MOONY!” a cheerful voice yelled from the hall entrance. Professor Quigley looked up briefly in irritation, then returned to swirling the dregs of her tea. James and Sirius bounded down the aisle to sit across from Remus, cheeks flushed from Quidditch practice and hair damp from the showers.

“How can you wear that?” Sirius said through mouthful of sausage.

“Good morning to you too,” Remus did not look up from his paper.

“Hey, isn’t that my paper?” James looked at the paper then glared up at the rafters.

Remus tossed James the sports section without looking up. “She’d probably like you more if you tried feeding her.”

“Only thing that bird eats is human flesh,” James snorted. “Besides, she can fend for herself, haven’t you seen that beak? Oh, Cannons lost again. They ought to hire a curse breaker.”

“Seriously, I’m hot just looking at you,” Sirius complained.

“At least I know how to button my shirt,” Remus glanced at James, who looked down at his missed button hole and crooked shirt.

“Trying out a new style,” James stuffed eggs into his mouth. “Isn’t against the dress code, prefect.”

“Likely will be by the end of the day,” Remus predicted.

James smiled. “How was I to know? The code clearly said to have my tie on and tied. Didn’t specify where.”

“Keep me current, Moony,” Sirius tapped the paper. Remus raised it to show the headline, and Sirius snatched it away.

James squinted at the headline: EUGENIA JENKINS OUSTED, MINCHUM MINISTER. “Her term wasn’t even up!”

“Hence ousted, Potter,” Sirius skimmed the article. “He’s increasing dementors around Azkaban. No more muggleborn ministers or squib rights sympathizers. Mother and father will be thrilled.”

“Look here,” Remus pointed to another headline: WEREWOLF ACTIVITY IN LONDON? “And this,” Remus held up another page with a smaller headline: WOMAN STRANGLES HUSBAND IN DOMESTIC DISPUTE, SAYS SHE WAS IMPERIUSED.

Sirius started humming Werewolves of London, and James made a face at the gory illustration under the domestic dispute headline.

“Look closer,” Remus tapped the article. “It says she strangled him after he said Muggle Studies should be mandatory. And she’s not just any ministry employee – my dad talked about her, she was an advisor to Jenkins.”

“Do you think it’s Him?” James looked at Remus.

“Dunno,” Remus shrugged. “I just think it’s weird the Prophet put it on the back page.”

Sirius shrugged. “New minister, werewolves. Pretty much everyone who’s ever committed a crime says they were imperiused. Not as splashy.”

“And this article about the werewolves,” Remus snatched the paper back. “There’s been some disappearances, muggles saying they think they saw things, then the aurors get involved. It’s propaganda, is what it is. Makes Minchum and Crouch look good, when they’re not doing anything about the real problem!” He shook the page with the article about the witch strangling her husband.

Students began filling the tables, and chatter echoed throughout the hall. James and Sirius looked at one another.

“Mate,” James started.

“Not all werewolves are like you,” Sirius shrugged and stuffed toast into his mouth.

Remus narrowed his eyes.

“They’re not all bad or anything!” James cut in. “They’re just –“

“Not _all_ of them are bad?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

James sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.“

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Remus replied.

“Well,” James stumbled, “It’s just, not all of them have, opportunities –“

“What’d I miss?” Peter slid in beside Remus and forked some eggs onto his plate. “Sounds like there’s big news.”

Across the hall, heads were bent over shared copies of the Daily Prophet. Minchum’s name was occasionally heard over the din, and a boy at the Ravenclaw table mimed howling, fingers curved like claws.

“I wouldn’t know, apparently,” Remus replied. He stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, leaving a piece of bacon on his plate.

Peter stared at the plate, then up at James and Sirius. “What’d you do?”

Sirius spread his arms wide. “Nothing! He’s just touchy. Hand us the beans, would you?”

Peter passed the platter with one hand and grabbed the paper next to Remus’ plate in the other. “This why? Werewolf got a wizard kid in London?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sirius replied in a snippy imitation of Remus’ voice. He shook his head, as if shaking the comment off, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Uh,” Peter looked around.

Sirius misaligned his buttons and began re-buttoning his shirt. “It’s the latest fashion, old boy.”

“Yes,” James punched the air.

“What’s he doing?” Mary MacDonald giggled.

“Trying to rewrite the dress code again,” Peter shook his head.

“Excellent,” Marcus Bell started unbuttoning his shirt.

The bell rang for classes and hundreds of students flooded into the corridors, excited laughter and chatter echoing down long sunlit halls. The second week of classes saw few exams and the remainder of the best weather they were likely to get until May. A paper dragon flapped its wings above their heads and made its way out into the courtyard. James followed it with his eyes and sighed.

“What if we skipped Defense today?” James looked out into the courtyard.

“You love Defense,” Peter nodded at Professor Flitwick when he did a double take at the boys’ shirts.

“Yeah, but the new guy’s boring, isn’t he?” James sighed. He spotted McGonagall and took a sharp turn towards the Defense classroom, strides lengthening until he passed the threshold. “Although,” he brightened, pulling a Biro out of his bag and placing it on his desk, “I have been enjoying this bit.”

The Defense classroom was split nearly down the middle, Slytherin students on the left and Gryffindors on the right. The slap of first James’ then Sirius’ Biros hitting their desks had the effect of a gavel being struck. At once, several of the Slytherins and a few of the Gryffindors looked over with expressions of annoyance and disgust.

“What’s the matter, Avery?” James twirled the Biro between his fingers. “Bit of indigestion?”

“Looks like it’s catching,” Sirius stuck his Biro behind his ear and grinned at Mulciber. “Doxy got your tongue?”

Avery and Mulciber turned away to mutter with each other, and Peter snickered as he sat down next to Remus. 

Professor Coxcomb entered the room and flicked his wand at the chalkboard to begin writing about non-spiritus apparitions, the next chapter in their advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts text. The room was still abuzz with the news of the morning, and when the bell rang again the professor turned and blinked at the number of hands in the air.

“Professor,” Mary MacDonald waved her hand in the air. “I was wondering, do werewolves live in cities? Or towns?”

“Miss, er,” the professor squinted at her.

“MacDonald,” Mary replied.

“Rarely,” the professor answered. “A werewolf’s natural instincts lead it deep into forested areas. Of course, during full moons they will seek out humans.”

“Then this werewolf in London must be pretty aggressive,” Mulciber said.

“I highly doubt there are any werewolves in London,” Professor Coxcomb smiled.

“Why not?” Peter interjected. “They’re just normal blokes and er, ladies, most the time, aren’t they?”

The professor shook his head. “Studies of werewolves find that the vast majority live in packs in the woods. Some recently bitten werewolves, of course, take some time to find a pack –“

“Those studies were done by the ministry though, weren’t they?” Remus interrupted. The other Gryffindor sixth years turned in surprise when Remus stopped the professor.

“Your point, Mr. –“

“Lupin,” Remus answered. “The ministry can barely get werewolves into the registry. They usually get research subjects from the werewolf capture unit. I don’t think we can really know how many werewolves there might be living normal lives in London.”

Chatter broke out among the students, and Professor Coxcomb raised a quieting hand.

“Well,” the professor smiled. “Mr. Lupin, as admirable as your sentiments toward social welfare are, I imagine when you are in the field as long as I have been you will change your tune.”

“But Professor,” Mary raised her hand again. “If there could be werewolves anywhere, shouldn’t we know how to defend ourselves?”

“Trust me, Miss MacDonald, you will know a werewolf when you see it. But I know when I am derailed,” The Professor waved a hand at the class. “Why don’t you all turn your textbooks to page 943? We will talk about tracking and exterminating werewolves. Perhaps it will help to settle some nerves.”

Peter opened his textbook to find _WEREWOLVES: XXXXX Classification (known wizard killer, impossible to train or domesticate)_. There were pictures of snarling werewolves engulfed in flames and breaking through containment spells. One particularly illustrative animation showed a werewolf biting into a woman’s neck and spraying blood across the page. Peter edged the textbook away from Remus and tipped the cover partly closed.

The professor continued answering questions about what various means might be effective in killing werewolves for the rest of the hour. Remus stayed silent and glanced occasionally out the window to the sunlit grounds.

All of the sudden, Peter found himself raising his hand. “Professor.”

“Yes?” the professor furrowed his brow at Peter.

“Pettigrew,” Peter squeaked. “I have a question.”

“I assumed so,” the professor replied, and the class laughed.

Peter flushed. “Well, we’ve covered how to kill a werewolf. I was just wondering, how do you befriend a werewolf?”

The students laughed. “I’m sorry?” The professor frowned at him.

“You heard him,” James laughed. “How do you befriend a werewolf?”

Peter smiled gratefully at James. The professor shook his head. “Now boys, I know you’re all eager to enjoy the sunshine, but let’s be serious.”

“I’m Sirius,” Sirius offered to the groans and laughter of his classmates. Sirius leaned forward on his hand and squinted at the professor. “I have a question too.”

The professor waved him off and turned back to the chalkboard. Sirius widened his eyes and reached forward. “Please, professor. It consumes me. You must –“

The professor turned back toward Sirius. “Mr. Black, if you do not –“

“How do you seduce a werewolf?” Sirius blurted.

The entire classroom erupted into laughter; Remus smiled down at his desk, and even Lily Evans hid a laugh behind her hand.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” the professor shouted, waving his hands to quiet the class down. “And I shall take more if you do not regain control of yourselves.”

Professor Coxcomb valiantly attempted to continue teaching, that at that point the lesson was well shot. The students were poised to leap from their seats as soon as the bell rang, pouring outside for a brief respite between classes. The Gryffindors continued to giggle their way through cheering charms that afternoon. At the final bell, James and Sirius finally broke off with a run toward the Quidditch pitch.

Remus disappeared into the library after tutoring a group of second years, and did not emerge during dinner.

“Pete,” James pointed at Peter, who was playing a game of Exploding Snap with Lobelia Clearwater. “The time has come. Execute plan #206, sharplike.”

Peter looked at Lobelia, then back at James. “Kind of busy here, Prongs.”

“Peter, my brother,” James stepped forward, “This is about our legacy. Think of the stories you will tell your children.”

Peter gave James a significant look, then glanced back at Lobelia. James snorted. “You’re the only man for the job.”

“What about plan #124?” Peter replied.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re always on about #124. Let it go, Pete.”

“What’s plan #206?” Lobelia asked Peter, who hesitated.

Sirius sat next to Lobelia, arm stretching across the back of the couch. “He can’t tell you. Mates before dates, and all that.”

Lobelia huffed and threw the deck of cards at Peter, exploding them in his face. “You’re all so immature. Don’t know why I bother.”

Peter punched Sirius in the shoulder. “Wait until I get you back for that, you self-absorbed prick.”

Sirius shrugged. “Guilty.” He clapped twice. “Go on, be a good little rat and let the house elves fawn over you while we do all the work.”

“How do you know they’re even serving it?” Peter scowled.

“Because you’re going to convince them,” James sat down on the other side of Peter. “It’s your absolute favorite. And you know, you’re really very distraught because your mum’s cat bit it today.”

“It’s not even funny,” Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “#124 is funny.”

*

Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius, James, and Peter sneaking back through the portrait hole past curfew, but went back to a stack of battered looking copies of the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, and The Quibbler without comment.

“Hey prefect,” James slid into a seat across from Remus at the small table.

“Hey truant,” Remus muttered.

“What’s all this?” Sirius laid his palms on the table, hair swinging forward to block Remus’ vision.

“It’s not just the one kid from a magical family,” Remus handed over one of the papers.

Sirius snatched the paper and began skimming. “What do you mean?”

James crowded in next to Sirius and adjusted his glasses. “So some muggles have gone missing.”

“A lot of muggles. And all their sources say the same thing,” Remus pointed to The Quibbler.

Sirius barked a laugh. “Source of rigorous journalism, that is.”

“It was the only one who bothered to interview the muggles themselves,” Remus defended

Peter took a copy of The Quibbler. “It says they were dragged,” he made a face. “So you do think there are werewolves in London?”

“Awoo,” howled Sirius, who'd taken to playing the record every time Remus walked in the room.

“We don’t know it’s a werewolf,” Remus took the magazine back. “The ministry’s on a witch hunt. My dad is working overtime. He says the new minister’s pushing for it.” Remus neatly re-stacked the papers and tucked them back into his bag. “I’m having my mam send me some muggle papers.”

“So the aurors are wrong and you’re going to figure it out yourself with some muggle magazines?” Sirius put his fists on his hips.

James put an arm around Remus’s shoulders and hauled him upright. “All work and no play makes Moony a paranoid boy.”

Sirius hummed Werewolves of London as they went up the staircase, and Remus shoved him off balance so that he clattered back downward. James peered down into the dark when he heard a whimper from the bottom stair. Padfoot bounded back up the stairs and into their room, then leapt onto his fourposter. James went into the bathroom and chucked a toothbrush at Padfoot’s head.

“Now that we’ve all got our tensions out,” James sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. He paused. “Damn it. I guess that was a resounding failure for dress code revision #7.”

Padfoot leapt from the bed and transformed before Sirius’ feet hit the ground, toothbrush in hand. “We’ll have to escalate,” he bumped James to the side and spat in the sink. He turned towards James, who was still diligently brushing. “Prongsie, have you still got my muggle clothes?”

James looked at Sirius in the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste and nodding excitedly. “Tha-“

“Spit then speak, dear,” the mirror said.

James spat. “If we thought the Biros made them pissy!”

“Double or nothing tomorrow it is,” Sirius grinned.

*

The thick sausages floated in a vat of Yorkshire pudding. Peter stirred his breakfast with a fork, sighing. “Now I’m not going to get to eat breakfast.”

“Ungrateful,” Sirius slapped Peter’s wrist. “The house elves likely stayed up all night making this out of the love in their hearts, and after what happened to poor Mimzy-“

“Almost swamp-like, wouldn’t you say?” James said, stirring his Toad in the Hole.

Remus looked sharply over at James, then set his knife down. His pudding croaked. 

Sirius’ pudding ribbited. “Oh dear me,” Sirius poked his knife underneath his sausage. “What’s this?”

Croaking erupted throughout the hall, and students leapt back as their puddings exploded to splatter across their robes. From each pudding emerged a slimy toad, propelled to great heights by the power of its back legs. Toads stuck to robes, clambered through hair, and disappeared beneath tables.

James grabbed a toad midair with all the dexterity he used to catch a snitch, then bit off its head with one wet chomp. He licked his lips while Lobelia stared at him in horror. “Tastes like a jelly slug.” He offered her his decapitated toad. “Want to try it?”

“A jelly slug,” a crisp Scottish brogue made James, Sirius, and Peter jump. “Excellent properties. Makes for a very lifelike toad. If only you put half as much effort into your transfiguration homework, imagine what you could accomplish.”

“I live for your faith in me, Professor,” James inclined his head.

“Detention, every night for the next two weeks as Mr. Filch sees fit. And the three of you will use your midmorning break to clean this mess.”

“I suppose we’ll have to change first,” James sighed, looking down at the mess on his robes. “Whatever will we wear?”

*

James and Sirius strode into the Great Hall for lunch with Biros tucked behind their ears, sunglasses hanging from T-shirts, and leather jackets unzipped. James wore a raglan with red sleeves underneath an athletic jacket with brown leather, blue jeans, and Converse. Sirius wore a black leather jacket with metal clasps, dark jeans, and boots. The entire hall, a sea of dress shirts and house ties, went silent.

“Muggle lover,” Mulciber jeered, breaking the silence.

“If I’m lucky,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

Chatter broke out, and Sirius heard one of the Greengrass twins mutter, “They look ridiculous.”

“I don’t know,” Marlene McKinnon gave Sirius a wink from the Slytherin table. “I think they look fit.”

“I think Lestrange is going to murder you both in your beds,” Remus greeted them.

“Perfect,” Sirius looped an arm around Remus’ shoulders. Remus colored and slid away. “Absolutely perfect.”


End file.
